


Wager

by elynne



Series: The Warden's Path [8]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M, Humor, Shenanigans, and giggling about smut, campfire gossip, comparison of social and political traditions between different nations, insinuation, magic isn't cheating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-02
Updated: 2012-07-02
Packaged: 2017-11-09 01:42:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/449856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elynne/pseuds/elynne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spirited commentary and a little gambling around the campfire ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wager

**Author's Note:**

> This story is taking place simultaneously with "First," if that wasn't obvious.

The gathered companions carefully did not watch the two Wardens as they disappeared into Alistair's tent, eyes down on their respective sharpening, mending, and reading. As soon as the couple was out of sight, though, Zevran and Leliana looked up, caught glances with each other, and burst into quiet snickers. The sounds of giggling and armor being clumsily shed were clearly audible from inside the tent. Tobias lifted his head, then went back to happily gnawing the ox bone he'd dragged into the camp. Wynne shifted in her chair slightly, but did not look up from her book, while Sten snorted once before standing up and pacing off into the darkness to begin his watch.

“His first time, do you think?” Zevran asked, leaning back against the log that had been rolled up to the fire.

“Most definitely,” Leliana said, carefully oiling her blade before running the sharpening stone down it a few more times. “He grew up at least partially in the Chantry – he was there during the years when a boy, or a girl for that matter, would be curious about such things, and young enough to take chances.”

“And you say that in the Chantry, there was no opportunity for him to have such experiences?” the elf asked, his voice dubious.

“Not quite none at all, but one would have to be very determined to find them,” she replied. Then she paused and quirked an eyebrow at the tent. Zevran listened intently, then shook his head slightly and made a talking motion with his hand. 

Leliana gave an impish grin and reached into her belt pouch, pulling out a gold coin and tossing it onto the blanket they'd used to lay out their weapons for cleaning. “One sovereign says we hear from her first,” she said, leaning back and picking up her knife.

“Oh, you believe he will find the time to pleasure her before himself?” The assassin wasted no time in producing a matching coin and placing it next to the bard's. “I think that men are too eager, especially inexperienced men, and that our bold warrior will be exhausted from his thrusting soon enough.”

“I think that you are not giving our leader enough credit,” Leliana said. “Natalia has a strong will, and has demonstrated that she is not shy about giving commands. She was raised as a noble, after all.”

“Yes, but nobles in Ferelden are different from the nobles of Orlais,” Zevran replied, then put a finger to his lips and tilted his head. Both listened for a minute, then grinned at each other. “In Orlais, the nobles believe they are entitled to everything they can get,” he continued. “They are brought up expecting that their every command will be obeyed without question. I have heard these Ferelden nobles, including our leader, ask instead of commanding many times. I believe it stems from their strange custom of selecting a king by vote, this Landsmeet.”

Though it was probably meant to be quiet, the sound of a woman's voice raised in a wordless cry overrode the elf's speech. Zevran shook his head ruefully as Leliana triumphantly scooped the coins from the blanket. Then he looked thoughtful, and produced another pair of coins from his purse. “Two coins, that we hear from her a second time before they are through,” he said with a wink.

This time it was Leliana's turn to look dubious, but she gamely tossed her coins back down. Looking up with a mildly annoyed expression, Wynne glanced at the coins on the blanket, then sighed and went back to her reading, though she couldn't quite repress a slight smile.

“I thought you were not impressed with the leadership of the Fereldan nobility,” Leliana said, wiping the oil off her dagger.

“Well, but now that you mention it, I seem to recall that Natalia has demonstrated a firm grasp of leadership,” Zevran replied, lounging back on his elbows. “I believe that she is a natural at commanding her forces, and more than capable of drawing out the very best efforts from those she chooses to engage.”

“But we have also seen her be merciful,” Leliana countered, her voice falling into the lilting pattern of Orlais courtly speech with the ease of her bard's training. “She did, after all, spare your own life. I do not think that she would be callous enough to ignore the pleadings of her allies in pursuit of her aims.”

“Ah, so you think he is pleading?” the elf said, tilting his head towards the tent again.

“If not with words, then with certain gestures and signs, unmistakeable though they are made in silence,” she replied with a cheerful smirk.

Zevran grinned back, but before he could reply, another breathless wail, obviously female in origin, drifted through the campsite. Leliana gave an exaggerated pout, while Zevran began picking up the coins, deftly flipping one across his knuckles. “So, do you think that -”

He was interrupted again, this time with the sound of several gold pieces falling onto the blanket. Both bard and assassin blinked, then looked up at Wynne in surprise. “Six from each of you, that we will hear no more from either of them for the rest of the night.”

The elf shrugged, then tossed six coins back down on the blanket. Leliana shook her head in disbelief, pulling out her own purse again and adding her gold to the pile. “It seems a shame to take your money, dear Wynne,” she said, “but if you insist on making a foolish wager, who am I to pass it up?”

When the money was gathered, Wynne smiled and stood up, picking up the staff that had been leaning against her chair. She waved her hands, spoke a few words, and raised her staff, pointing it at Alistair's tent. In the darkness, the flash of a warding circle was plainly visible, and the sounds that had been coming from inside the tend cut of as abruptly as the snapping of a dry twig.

There was a moment of silence, and then Zevran let out a whoop of laughter, nearly falling onto his side. “Hey, that's cheating!” Leliana said, a mixture of outrage and amusement on her face.

“Not at all,” Wynne responded serenely, bending to gather up the coins from the blanket. “No reason was ever specified, was it? And I can guarantee that the ward will indeed last the remainder of the night.”

Wiping tears from his eyes, Zevran climbed to his feet and then gave Wynne an elaborate bow, with all the flourish he could muster. “I gladly concede to you, dear mage. It is always a humbling reminder that I too can be outflanked.” Leliana sighed heavily, then followed suit with a perfect courtly curtsy and a rueful grin.

Wynne nodded regally to the pair. “Rest well,” she said, and retired into her own tent. Leliana and Zevran settled back down around the fire, still chuckling, as Sten walked slowly past, his attention turned outwards to the forest.


End file.
